Never arriving in a city missing in locational drift.
Plates shifting under building facades and whipped décor,
Seas rising and falling at the edge of amusements
And surf.
The migrations migrating elsewhere,
monarchs lost on their way south, children coming north
In droves on their way to anywhere else.
The city of lost souls blowing in the Santa Ana winds
And people who are not us no matter who we are.
Where is she now, he asks, what ever happened to the girl
Named for a saint, the one with the ankle tattoo
The one who dropped out, lost out, & only just arrived.
